Dear Fantasy

musing: you think Levi would
have looked like this?

So there we were in the department store, arguing about the color pink. Yes, it would suit him—real men wear pink, you know. And he said, NO. You would look good in blue or a dark red, but not pink. It is reserved for freaky pink mom like me. These are some petty debates we often have these days. 

Sleepless nights are normal now—we have mastered our schedule as to who will wake up and change the diapers and feed you. Your cradle is in our room, but your room is right next to ours, ready for you, complete with toys and pastel blue in color, with action figures. I think your Dad can also live there. 

He would be home from a photography session, I just wrote an article. The day gets the most out of us but just the mere bliss of looking at your little body—counting your toes, gently touching your delicate skin, sniffing you from head to toe, would erase all our tiredness away.

Seeing your first smile and hearing your first laugh has left us feeling like lovesick individuals. We would not dare sleep and we would act like fools just to hear your laugh and see your smile.

When you cry, it seems like your life depends on us and all our defenses would just go down and to finally get you to lessen your cries to sobs to sleepy eye flutters and then watching you fall asleep, feels like success every time.

fantasy: angel levi talking to Levi & Murielle

Times are slow and fast at the same time, especially when we bond together as a family. He believes you’ll be a Mommy’s Boy when you grow up, with all the attention I’m giving you. I would like to believe that while you look a lot like him, you act more or less like me, and we just celebrate our similarities. To watch you try to grab your toys or try to get up, having our imaginary talks with Levi and Murielle and all your other stuffed brothers and sisters freezes time, we want to it to stay that way and wish that you’ll not grow up so fast. But at the same time, we wonder how it would feel to see you in your little uniform, learn how to read, see A+’s in your exam papers, watch you write your name, tell your Dad of your first crush, eat together as a family.

The time you first called to us, “Dada.. Mama..” will forever be etched in our hearts. I laugh at how you imitate your Dad, and how he tries to dress you up with the same clothes he has, and introduces you to the X-Men and the Avengers and Spiderman and lets you get caught up in the 80s and 90s, convincing you that these were the best years.  I feel so proud seeing you learn karate and martial arts, and learn piano and playing the guitar. You and your daddy would of course play basketball together with your uncles and challenge all nearby father and son duo's in the neighborhood. It wouldn't matter if you win or lose, as long as you're both together. 

You see, I love you. We both love you. And we are falling in love with you every day from the first time we saw you to the last time I held you in my arms.

fantasy: levi in baby heaven. look at that dumbell. 

And just so you may know, these are just concoctions in my head of what you might have been, and what Lito and I have missed after we lost you, Levi. You would have been 4 months today. 

Reading this, you may think I may have gone nuts. But if you were in our shoes, would you make scenarios in your head or dwell on the harshness of reality? I play these scenarios in my head to keep you alive in my heart. I wanted those made-up scenarios to be real and for them to be etched in my memory. I want to succumb to my fantasies because somehow remembering the real scenario of what happened when you left us has left us scarred and empty, and your loss will never be forgotten as long as we live.

For a few months ago, the memory of losing you is still so fresh in my brain and I wish it weren’t. The frantic drive to the hospital, the phone call from the doctor, hoping against hope that she’s called and told us that you were fine. There were the “why’s” and “what if’s” and “if only’s”. I remember the doctor coming in, looking like she was terrified. The look on her face said it all. She stood as far away from us as she could while she told us they did everything they could to save you. I told her I wanted to hold you. I remember Lito and I hugging each other tight and crying our hearts out. They took effort to prepare us on how you’d look, like they were afraid I’d collapse. I don’t collapse. I do crisis great. I have lots of experience. But not this time. Even the strongest of the strong falters when you hold your dead son in your hands.

fantasy: Levi's hand while daddy is on chemo

Harsh reality is: My son is not with us anymore, my husband is bravely battling leukemia and I am trying to hold on to faith and hope.

Life goes on. And I’m determined to make the most of my remaining time here. All these experiences have taught us that you can’t count on tomorrow. There’s only today and what a shame it would be to waste it. 

fantasy: sleeping Levi in heaven..
clasped hands reminds you of?

People ask me "How do you do it? How do you survive everything you’d experienced?" It’s a no brainer. What are the choices? We can curl up in the fetal position and figure that life is over or that life is hard with cancer, or we can look around, cherish the presence of friends, family and each other and realize that we have the power to make the world a better place in whatever time we have left. Nothing lofty. No Mother Theresa here. But helping a little bit where we can. What better way to honor my son’s life and banking on hope with my husband’s battle than to vow never to let pass the chance to do something positive in the world.

4months ago today, I gave birth to you.  We told you we loved you with every chance we could in your 18 days of being alive. We love you still and we miss you so much, the ache might always be there. Today is Dad’s second day of chemotherapy re-induction. With that, I’d like to believe in that fantasy of mine again, that you are just with us in this battle and that you are just holding Daddy’s hands, never letting your twin of a Dad go. When we dream, we see you, in blue, laughing your heart out, playing your guitar. Back in reality, we smile and offer this fight to you, for you are worth living for.

We love you, son… And we miss you so so much.

Mom and Dad